


There aren't enough words for snow

by Defira



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Dragon Age Holiday Cheer, Dragon Age Secret Santa, F/M, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gift for Owlmoose (lifeofkj on tumblr) as a part of the Dragon Age Holiday Cheer. </p><p>Kasia Brosca is perplexed and amused by many things on the surface, none more so than the surfacers' strange inability to come up with words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owlmoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/gifts).



She’d heard the jokes about Ferelden, and the wet. It was a little hard to avoid such a judgement, really, because Ferelden _was_ a very cold, very wet place. That first day when Kasia had stumbled into the light behind Duncan, her mouth hanging open in awe at the immensity of the sky and the sun and _all of it_ , she hadn’t really thought much about the fact that the upper reaches of the mountains were cloaked in white, white so bright that it hurt to look at when the sunlight bounced off of it. 

But the sunlight was bright enough to hurt her eyes a lot for the first few days, so that wasn’t anything unusual. And it was summer when Duncan had brought her to the surface, so the snow was relatively scarce- although she didn’t know at the time that it was snow. It was higher up the slopes, nowhere near the well beaten path that they took down to the Lowlands, and there were plenty of things much closer to hand and much more intriguing. Like birds! And flowers! By the Stone, flowers were incredible, the smells and the colours- sometimes the lichen that grew in the damper parts of Dust Town was surprisingly colourful, a pale bit of colour in a drab landscape, but even that had nothing on the wildflowers that grew in abundance on the slopes. 

So the snow wasn’t of immediate interest to her, not with so many other exciting things to tug at her attention. To be quite honest, she just assumed that the mountains were supposed to look like that, and didn’t stop to wonder why some peaks were pale white and others weren’t. Rocks and stone came in a rainbow of colours, and why should it be any different on the surface world? No, much more interesting to be distracted by butterflies, and the tiny skinks that hid beneath the mossy logs by the river, and clearing out pockets in the taprooms of the inns they stopped at. 

There were plenty of things more distracting than snow, not least of which was the hoard of darkspawn nipping at their heels as they fled the disaster at Ostagar. And there was certainly no end to the cold misery that cascaded down on them from the sky, for even in the midst of summer, Ferelden was prone to squalls and mists. The first time she was caught in a downpour, a day out of Lothering, she’d tipped her head back and laughed and cried and pretended that the tears were just more of the rain. The novelty of it had lasted all of two minutes, until the water reached her boots, and soaked through to her underclothes, and then suddenly the jokes about the smell of wet dog made a lot more sense. 

It was late one afternoon, late in autumn on the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest, when she first encountered snow. There was something different in the air, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on: it wasn’t a smell, per se, but there was just something _tingling_ in her nostrils, and she stuck her nose in the air and sniffed so often that Oghren made an unkind comparison between her and the Mabari trailing merrily at her heels. 

The sky was grey, steely grey, and the clouds seemed lower than normal, as if she could climb a tree and reach up and touch them. Alistair and Leliana both kept glancing at the sky as well, sharing worried looks, until finally the bard called out “I might just run ahead, see if I can’t find us a lovely little grove to camp out in.”

She disappeared into the trees on silent feet, and Kasia raised an eyebrow at Alistair. “Something I should be aware of?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound snippy at all. She didn’t want to come across as snippy, certainly, but even after all these weeks on the surface there was still so much to know, and it was frustrating sometimes when the humans just seemed to know something instinctively and she was left red-faced in her ignorance. She knew they didn’t do it deliberately- well, sometimes it was hard to tell with Morrigan- but it was hard to ignore when they nodded in some shared understanding.

“Nothing too drastic, my dear,” Alistair said cheerfully, wearily. He still hadn’t quite shrugged off the effects of the Greater Shade’s sleeping curse, and he walked with his shoulders slightly stooped. “It just looks like we’re in for a snowstorm; not to worry though, Leliana will-”

“A snowstorm?” she interrupted, all trace of irritation gone. “An actual snowstorm? With snow? Like from the tales?”

Alistair laughed, not unkindly. “Maker’s Breath, a little overeager for something that’s only going to inconvenience us, aren’t you?”

She poked her tongue out at him. “Some of us aren’t lucky enough to have seen snow before, Messere Lofty Surfacer.”

He adopted a wounded expression. “My dear lady, you do me discredit! I would never be so discourteous to one so lovely as yourself!”

The moment was broken by the bellowing bark of her Mabari, surging between them and rushing towards an overgrown hillock further down the trail. Instantly on alert, their hands went to their weapons, the familiar rush of battle flooding into her veins-  
-until Leliana tumbled into view, her hands raised to show she was unarmed. “It’s just me!” she called, a moment too late; she was hurled backwards by a mountain of dog who, upon realising she wasn’t a threat, happily stood over her and dropped slobbery dog kisses all over her face. “Maker’s Breath, dog, your _breath!_ Down, boy, down!”

Kasia had to laugh. “Down, pup. Let her up again.”

He whined- by the Stone, could a dog actually _pout?_ \- and sat back on his haunches, giving her enough room to sit up again. She tugged the twig from her hair with a rueful smile. “There is a wooded grove up ahead,” she said, “just off the main road. Not far from a stream too, so it should provide us adequate shelter during the storm.”

Kasia shrugged on a smile. “Lead on then,” she said. 

The wind was picking up a little as they made camp some time later, and she was decidedly grateful that the fire was Morrigan’s duty; she didn’t fancy trying to get the tinder to light in the cold breeze. But the mage had obligingly dealt with the main camp fire as well as her own, smirking at both Sten and Alistair’s disapproving frowns before she settled back into her private camp. 

Kasia watched her go with a grin, shaking her head at the witch’s antics. Even if she and Morrigan didn’t always see eye to eye, she enjoyed her sass. 

Something moved at the corner of her vision and she turned her head out of reflex, still smiling- and froze. Drifting down from the sky, buffeted by the slight breeze, were large white somethings. It wasn’t rain- it moved too slowly for that.

“By the Stone,” she whispered, coming slowly to her feet. She moved away from the crackle of the fire, away from the sounds of Leliana muttering in Orlesian under her breath as she struggled with her tent, and towards the edge of the clearing. All around her, the white danced on the air, drifting down into fast spinning circles, sometimes lifted up by the breeze only to cascade down quickly again in a brisk flurry.

“So this is snow,” she said softly, her face turned upwards to the white flakes. It was eerie, actually, because there was still light in the clouds, a soft glow of sunlight filtering through, and the snow made no noise as it fell. It was bright and cold and silent, and it was magical to watch. She held her hand out and touched one as it drifted past her, then laughed. She snatched another one out of the air, opening her palm to find nothing but a wet patch against the skin.

“The trick is to let it settle into your hand, not grab at it,” Alistair said, coming up and kneeling behind her. When his arms went about her she shivered for a moment, and not from the cold. He took hold of her hand in his and held it out to the steely sky. “Just let it come to rest gently,” he said quietly, his breath tickling at her ear. “Let it come to you.”

Clearly she had a dirty mind, because his suggestions on snowflakes seemed decidedly saucy to her- tips on how to lure a nervous young lover perhaps? But she bit her lip to stop herself from blurting out such thoughts and instead let him guide her hand to the next snowflake, watching as it came to rest gently against the curve of her palm. 

She wanted to laugh at the sheer joy of it- snow! “It’s so small,” she said in a hushed voice, drawing her hand closer to look at the tiny crystal of ice in her hand. Even as she watched, the form collapsed and melted, leaving nothing but a drop of water against her skin. 

“Oh, you think it’s all lovely now, all puffy and soft and lovely,” Alistair warned, shaking his finger in an exaggerated manner, “but you just give it five minutes when it gets down the back of your shirt or into your boots and you won’t think it quite so fine and dandy, mark my word.”

“So marked, Ser Knight,” she said, lifting her hand to her mouth and slipping her tongue out to catch the droplet in her palm. She heard his breath catch for a moment, and grinned to herself. “But for now, it seems ridiculously fun. Can we throw it at each other yet?”


	2. Chapter 2

Her breath was steaming in front of her face when she cracked open her eyes; she winced at the cold, curling in around herself in a pitiful attempt to keep warm. It never really got cold in Orzammar- rather impossible in a city hemmed in by rivers of molten rock. The deep and bone aching cold of the surface still surprised her, more than half a year after her exile. How could it be so cold when the sun was shining? She could see the light creeping in under the edge of the tent flap, not dim and murky but sharp, as sharp as the cold biting at her exposed skin.

She grumbled to herself, and pulled the blanket up over her head. It wasn’t her turn for sentry, and no one had made the call to pull up camp yet, so she was damn well going to stay in the little pocket of warmth she’d built for herself. 

_It’d be warmer if Alistair was here to cuddle up to,_ a merciless little voice sang in her head. 

Well, she and Alistair weren’t on the best of terms since Redcliffe, and if the cold was the price she had to pay for her pride, she’d gladly pay it. Mostly gladly. Sort of gladly. But she reserved the right to sulk. It was cold, okay, and no one was expected to be in a good mood when it was this cold. There had to be a law about that, right?

But now she had no chance of getting back to sleep, her thoughts running amok and her temper making her clench her fists beneath the blanket. Muttering to herself, she kicked back the blankets, immediately swearing at the cold rushing in to replace her little bubble of warmth. Cursing vilely under her breath, she tugged on her boots and hunted around in the mess for her cloak, finding it twisted up in the bed things. 

Pulling it around her shoulders, she crawled on hands and knees to the tent flap and went to stick her head out to inspect the morning. 

Her head bumped against the tent flap, and the bloody thing didn’t even _budge_. Instead there was a sharp crack, and she fell back in shock, rubbing at the crown of her head as she stared at the belligerent tent flap. Reaching forward hesitantly, she pushed at it with her hand- initially, it did not move, and she pushed hard. There was another crack, and the whole of the flap snapped clean away, leaving her blinking in surprise at the sudden rush of sunlight in the absence of the flap. 

A lecherously familiar laugh echoed across the camp and she scowled, sticking her head out into the morning light. Oghren sat by the fire pit, the flames sending tiny white hot sparks dancing into the air, the nug-humper rugged up comfortably with a giant iron pitcher in his grubby paws. Judging by the red shine to his nose, he’d either been sitting too close to the fire, or had been tucking into the drink for quite some time now.

Probably both.

“What are you laughing at?” she grouched, kicking the broken flap to the side as she shambled out of her tent. It was just as cold as she’d expected, so cold that it hurt to breath in, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she made her way over to the fire. 

“Snowed again, didn’ it?” he said, cackling to himself as if it were some kind of hilarious joke.

She plonked down onto another one of the logs by the fire, sighing happily as she held her hands out towards the warmth. “Are you drunk enough that you’re seeing things again? Like the time with the pants thief?”

“Pants thief was real. Always a risk of pants theft in these parts; a man has to defend what’s his.” He eyed her over the rim of his mug. “And I don’t know what’s got yer panties in a knot, but I ain’t drunk enough to miss something like being stuck out in the snowfall while yer all toasty n’ warm in yer little tent there.”

Kasia looked around slowly. The landscape around them, a rocky hillside, was frosty at the very least. There was white on the ground, and white on the tents, to be sure, but it was more like a thick and furry lichen, as if mould had sprouted over everything overnight. It looked a little thicker in some places, but snow?

She snorted to herself and turned back to the fire. “You’re dreaming, Oghren. I’ve seen snow, and this isn’t snow.”

“Oh, _my mistake_ madam Warden,” he said magnanimously, “I musta been imagining being pelted in the face with that white nonsense for the last few hours. Ol’ Oghren musta been _drunk again_.”

She scowled at the bitterness in his voice. “There’s no need to be sarcastic,” she said, rubbing her hands together as the warmth started to creep back into them. “All I’m saying is, I’ve been on the surface longer than you, and I know what snow looks like. I’ve seen it- it’s soft and cold and fluffy and it goes wet and slushy when you leave it. This is…” She gazed about at the landscape, swathed in a furry white coat. “This is something else.”

“Maybe them surfacers is just too dumb to come up with another name, ‘cause I’m pretty sure this is snow. It’s white and it fell from the sky.”

“But it’s too cold. Everything is frozen! My tent flap,” she gestured to the broken fabric, “well, let’s just say it’s never done that before.”

He cackled loudly, his eyes burning with mischief. “You say that too easily, lass, you had practice at that have ya? You know just what all the lads want to hear-”

She tossed a rock at him, and he ducked out of the way. “How much have you had to drink anyway? You were s’posed to be on guard duty.”

“I had a bit,” he said defensively. “Just to get me through the snow.”

“Oh by the-” She bit her tongue to stop an angry retaliation. “This _isn’t_ snow. I’ve _seen_ snow.”

“You’ve been a surfacer four more months than me n’ suddenly you’re a sodding expert,” he grumbled. “Well, I don’t know what it is, but the only word I know is snow.”

“Oghren, I’ve heard you give your _cock_ at least fourteen different names, I’m pretty sure it shouldn’t be that hard to think of different names for snow.”

He cackled in delight. “You’ve been payin’ attention, Warden. But truth be told, the little delver in the Deep has four hundred n’ six names, at last count.” He puffed up with pride.

Kasia pinched the bridge of her nose against the oncoming headache. “It’s too early in the morning for this conversation,” she muttered, unsure whether to laugh at his dreadful enthusiasm or recoil from him in horror. “I need breakfast before I have to endure a discussion about how many names your nuglet has.”

“Heheh, nuglet is number seventy eight, all pink n’ smooth and-”

“If you keep talking, I’m going to cut out your tongue.”

“A lot of ladies would consider that a crime against their lady-parts.”

“All I’m saying is, this isn’t snow,” she said, glancing over her shoulder when she heard someone else stirring within their tent. 

“Oh, Maker preserve us!” Leliana’s lilting tones echoed across the campsite, the shock in her voice completely genuine. “It did snow during the night after all!”

Kasia gritted her teeth as she stared at Oghren. “You shut up,” she mouthed silently, and ignored the delighted look of glee on his face.

This _wasn’t_ snow.


	3. Chapter 3

“This is _not_ snow,” she yelled over the howling wind. “This is nothing short of the end of the world!”

“It’s a blizzard, mi amor!” Zevran yelled back, cheerful as ever. “Just a minor inconvenience to be sure, but nothing to the indomitable spirit of a warrior woman such as yourself.”

“Are you trying to charm the storm into submission?” she shouted, but the storm seemed to snatch at her words, and she didn’t think he had heard her. 

By the Stone, she had never encountered anything as fierce and wild as this storm before. The noise and the force of it, the power of the wind as it fought her every step, and wrenched the air from her lungs, leaving her gasping at the ice in her chest. She couldn’t see more than a foot in front of her- Zevran walked ahead of her, breaking the snow so that she had an easier time trekking through it, but he disappeared from view often enough to have her panicking in no short time. 

Was it bad taste to suggest lashing everyone together with rope? Ancestors sodding take her, who even stopped to think about decorum in this sort of nightmare? This was Leliana rubbing off on her. The old Kasia wouldn’t have thought twice about manners.

Her cheeks were burning, her eyes were burning, her lips were burning- funny, she wouldn’t have thought that would ever be a problem in immense cold. Morrigan was curiously kind for once, and when it became apparent that they were caught within a worsening storm, had gone along the line of travellers with a tiny jar of ungent that she insisted they smear over their lips. It was oily and greasy, and it didn’t have the nicest taste in the world, but she trusted the witch- Ancestors only knew how much worse it would have been without the ice balm. 

She had to squint against the wind, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her face. Her eyes kept watering, and as fast as she wiped it away she could feel the remains of the pained tears freezing on her cheeks. 

She couldn’t feel her feet anymore, and thanks to the outlandish stories Morrigan liked to tell about foot rot, an infliction which befell many careless Chasind warriors in the freezing southern swamps, she wasn't really sure if she wanted to know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

A shape loomed suddenly out of the darkness, far too close and far too large. She squeaked in alarm as she bumped right into it, fumbling for her daggers as she was knocked backwards into the snow. Not snow. Snow was fluffy and pretty and didn’t try to kill her. 

The shape hung over her, closer, and she wondered if the others had been picked off one by one in the dark swirling cold. She regretted that she would die like this, alone and freezing, with no chance to talk to Alistair one last time, no chance to see Rica’s boy grow, no chance to spend one last night with-

Sten’s craggy face materialised inches from her face, the usually severe expression only magnified tenfold by the ice clinging to his braids and the freezing water sluicing down towards his chin. 

“We have found a campsite, Warden,” he said, his giant hand easily spanning her arm as he hauled her to her feet. Apart from looking immensely unhappy, he didn’t even look like he was all that affected by the storm. He didn’t even sound like he was shouting, Stone take him. The grim giant certainly didn’t flail about in snow drifts, occasionally getting lost in them when they got taller than him, oh _noooo_. For a man who could occasionally be lured into conversations about far off lands of heat and spice, he certainly didn’t seem all that put out by the storm. 

Or maybe it was just that in comparison to her mood, nobody was likely to look grumpy.

She stumbled through the snow at his side, only remaining upright at times by the firm grip he had on her arm. More shapes loomed out of the darkness, one more familiar than others as it lunged towards her, knocking her prone and slobbering all over her face with enthusiastic woofs. 

“You sodding brat!” Despite herself she threw her arms around the pup’s neck, and used him as a crutch to haul herself out of the snow. Sten was waiting patiently, Ancestors bless him, and he led the way through the snowdrifts to a place where the wind did not howl quite so violently. Kasia blinked through the flakes that had collected on her lashes, making out the barest of shapes in the night. 

Zevran appeared again, and Sten slipped away, hopefully to his own shelter. She punched the elf above the elbow. 

“You left me, you traitor,” she howled over the wind.

“My darling Warden, you wound me with your grievous accusations!” How could he be so svelte and composed in the midst of all this? He shot her a grin, and if it wasn’t so cold she would have poked her tongue out at him. 

What if it froze outside her mouth and got stuck there?

“I’ll wound you for real if there isn’t somewhere to hide from this wind!”

His arm was around her shoulders, guiding her forward through the murk. “But of course, my dear, it would be remiss of me not to provide you with the very finest shelter. Come, let me shower you with all the warmth and comfort your heart could possibly desire.”

The tent was a dark shape against a darker night, and she fumbled for the flap, Zevran following close behind her. She gasped in relief at being out of the worst of the wind, great heaving lungfuls of air that burned her throat with the cold but were so fabulous in that they did not contain a single snowflake to choke her. She rested in the small tent on her hands and knees, coughing and shivering and just so damned grateful to be out of the wind. 

Zevran crawled in behind her, chuckling as he did so. “Mi amor, you must not pose yourself so artfully- a man might get ideas about what to do with such a fine derriere.”

She twisted, turning to face him and revelling in the fact that she now could poke her tongue out at him without immediate risk of freezing. “A man probably had those ideas already, regardless of my input,” she said, shivering and settling back on her haunches. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the cold begin to settle into her bones. “I do need to change clothes quickly though, and I imagine you do too.”

“Kasia, we will be lucky if we are in possession of a single sock that is not soaked right through. I doubt very much that we have anything to change into.”

She sighed dramatically, reaching up to wring water from her hair. “We could always get naked, I suppose,” she said slowly.

His hand snaked to the back of her head, to rub down her neck. “What a marvellous idea you have, my dear.”

A plaintive woof sounded behind them, and a flurry of cold filled the tent as Zevran was shoved forward, knocking her to the ground. A moment later a third body joined them, one quite a bit more furry and wriggly than either of them had anticipated. 

“Ancestors sodding take it, _don’t you dare_ -”

With an excited bark, her Mabari clambered out of the pile and shook violently, spraying the inside of the tent with icy water.

“-shake,” she finished pathetically.


	4. Chapter 4

There were many things she had never had a chance to experience in Orzammar, things that had only been the wild and magical elements of stories. Things she had never thought she would have a chance to face before, like sunshine and snow and chocolate and real ale and feather comforters. 

As she sat on the log by the fire, sipping at the hot but watery mead she’d warmed over the flames, she came to realise there was another thing she had never experienced lying amidst the scum and muck of Dust Town- and that was silence. 

Silence so deep that it seemed to have a song of its own. Silence so immense that it seemed as if the entire world had stopped, and she was the only living, breathing thing left within it. Silence that loomed malevolently over her, silence that comforted and quieted; there were so many different types of silence, and in the madness of the city, of living crushed into an ancient groaning city that never seemed to sleep, she had never known silence at all. 

There was always the murmuring roar of the lava falls, the creak and groan of the mechanised metropolis, the cries of the poor and starving in the street outside the slum they called home. Orzammar was an ancient living organism, straining under its own weight, and she had never known silence a single day that she was there.

She sipped on the mead and stared out over the world, utterly blanketed in white and unrecognisable from the lush river country it had been yesterday. But for the crackle of the fire, the world was silent, and nothing moved. The sky was grey, the ground was white, and the trees were varying shades in between. It was perhaps an hour after dawn, a soft glow behind the clouds in the east her only indication of time. Once upon a time she had been able to tell the passing of the minutes almost precisely- her Stone Sense. That was fading now, after nearly eight months above ground, and she felt a peculiar sense of loss at the thought, something she hadn’t expected to feel. She’d been excited when she left the Deep, and she didn’t regret it.

But there was something to mourn, perhaps, in losing a part of herself in the pursuit of a better life. 

She shook herself, and snorted in amusement. “By the Stone, but the solitude does make you maudlin, Kas,” she muttered, taking a deeper swig of her drink. It wound deliciously through her, settling in her belly, warming her slowly from the inside out. Kasia hugged herself close as she waited for the sun to creep from behind the clouds and warm the ice from her bones- not likely, but a girl could dream. Zevran, curse his hide, was tucked away in the tent fast asleep with her thrice cursed dog snoring beside him. 

Night sentry had almost seemed like a blessing in comparison to staying in that tent. The smell alone would have put some of the old beggars in Dust Town to shame. 

There was a soft sound behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Leliana climbing out of her tent, a beatific smile upon her face. She waved as she reached back in and tugged out her cloak, before making her way across the snow to sit beside her on the log. Kasia admired the way the bard moved over the snow, her feet breaking through the crisp snow with only a whisper of sound. 

They sat in silence for some time, Kasia offering her the mug she clutched between her fingers for warmth if only because it felt rude not to. 

Eventually Leliana sighed happily, a cloud escaping from her mouth as she did so. “It is very beautiful, is it not?” she said softly.

Kasia took her time in replying. “It is certainly something wondrous,” she said finally, unsure how to put into words the deep sense of serenity and peace she felt at that moment.

“It is in the very deepest silences like this when I feel closest to the Maker,” Leliana said, her eyes shining as she gazed out over the landscape, as if she were expecting to see Andraste herself striding across the snow towards them.

That made Kasia’s eyebrows go up. “You think that you can hear your god in the _absence_ of something?” she asked incredulously.

“When the world slumbers like this, and when all is quiet, that is when it is easiest to hear His Voice,” Leliana said earnestly. “His Voice is the Voice of Creation itself, and when the world pauses, that is when we hear him best.”

“I thought your Chantry said the Maker had left,” she said, resting her chin in her hands. 

“And that He has, but that does not mean that his presence does not linger. We are all his children, this world his masterpiece. It is impossible not to hear the enduring whispers of his song and on mornings like these,” she breathed deeply, “it is a song that gladdens my heart.”

Kasia stared out at the world, soft and white and blanketed in silence. “There should be a word for this,” she said, toeing a slushy puddle near her foot where the fire had not been kind to the surrounding snow. “There should be a word for this sort of… thing.” 

“What? The snow?”

“No, not the snow,” she said distractedly, watching the world. “The immensity of it all. The silence. The beauty. The… all those things you said. It does something to you, this weather. This is not just snow. This is something more.”

“Perhaps you are experiencing a spiritual awakening, my friend.”

The spell momentarily broken, Kasia eyed her with exaggerated suspicion. “Leliana, we talked about this. No attempts at religious conversion before breakfast, remember?”

“You cannot blame a girl for trying, surely. When am I likely to get a more opportune moment than this?”

Kasia sighed, and lifted the mug to her lips. “If we don’t stop this Blight, one can imagine not many.”


	5. Chapter 5

Kasia sighed and wiped the blood from her face, offering a hand to the Seneschal to help him to his feet. 

“Talking darkspawn,” she muttered, mostly to herself, “just what I needed.”

“I apologise that your arrival should be overshadowed by such violence and anarchy, my Lord,” the Seneschal said, wincing as he came to his full height. She gestured to the mage- Anders? By the Stone, she should have paid more attention when he’d been talking- and thankfully he understood her weary hand signals, going straight to the older warrior with his hands already aglow. 

Pinching at the bridge of her nose in the vain hope that it would do something to ward off the headache raging behind her eyes, she waved aside his concerns. “Please, there’s no need for the ‘ _my Lords_ ’ at all. Just Kasia is fine.”

Leaving Anders and the Seneschal while the healing took place, she wandered over to the edge of the battlements, careful not to slip on the rain soaked stones. 

Vigil’s Keep. Her domain now- and apparently, at war. 

She sighed. “At least it’ll look pretty when it snows,” she muttered.

A loud belch sounded beside her, and she cast a withering glare at Oghren. “A little unseasonal for snow, don’cha think?” he said.

She snorted and looked back over the burning ruins of the bailey. “I’ve got a bottle of West Hill Brandy that says you’re dead wrong.”

“You’re on, wench.”

“And we’re counting any kind of snow. Even if it gets frosty on the windows.”

“Oh, so you’re a filthy cheat as well as an outlandish liar? I recall a whiny little nuglet-”

“Ancestors, do not sodding call me that, I will have nightmares.”

“Who insisted there was only one kind of snow,” he finished, cackling lecherously. He paused to kick a battered darkspawn corpse over the edge, the ruined armour clattering against the wall all the way to the ground. “I ain't taking that bet.”

“Too late, you already said yes.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s how you recruited me in the first place.”

“I’m pretty sure you might be right,” she said, smiling as she turned back to him. “It’s good to have you around, Oghren. Snow or no snow.”


End file.
